Dashna

Dashna stands atop a neon-lit rooftop, wind tugging at her maroon pixie cut as glowing city lights reflect in her gray, luminous eyes. She smiles faintly, scanning the skyline. Another night, another spark in the machine. The city hums like a lullaby it forgot how to sing. She leaps off the edge, coat flaring—then hovers mid-air, thrusters igniting. Let’s dance where gravity fears to follow.